


if this is love, then love is easy

by tomorrows



Series: posh/becks au [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Rimming, Water, babies babies babies lots of many babies, egg whites turkey bacon sausage, kind of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5557451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrows/pseuds/tomorrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis tucks a wayward curl behind his ear and kisses his forehead, arms coming around to circle his husband’s broad shoulders. Harry’s feather-thin t-shirt is soft under his skin, a little worn out. He pokes his finger into one of the holes by Harry’s underarms and traces small circles into his skin.</p><p>“Why can’t I just have this for me birthday?” Louis asks quietly.</p><p>Harry nuzzles into his sternum, nosing his way up to the base of his neck. “You have this every day,” he whispers, words muffled against his skin. “Doesn’t count. You know that. I love you, but you know that.”</p><p> </p><p>[it's louis' birthday and all he wants is to not celebrate it. his kids have other plans.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	if this is love, then love is easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> thank u smol babie tashie also karen fuck off
> 
> title is from mcfly's love is easy

❄ L ❄

Louis is woken up on the 15th of November at 3:35 in the morning to the sound of his husband screaming his name repeatedly. The worst part—besides the fact that he’d been up until half past one working with Darcy on a school project, so he’s barely had a wink of sleep as it is—is that it’s not even the good kind of screaming. It’s not _Lou!,_ like when the kids are at their nans’ and Harry doesn’t have to worry about keeping his voice down. It’s not _Lewis!_ , like when they’re baking with the kids and Louis teams up with Teddy and Auggie to throw flour and Harry’s stern voice shakes through with laughter.

No.

It’s more like, “ _Louis_ William fucking Tomlinson, get up, right now! Get _up_!”

So, Louis wakes up. Against his will, and working on less than two hours of sleep, because even at 3:35 in the morning his husband is a force to be reckoned with. He loves his sleep, but he also loves being alive.

“Once, just once, please, for the love of God, I’d appreciate a good eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, _please_ ,” he grumbles, voice gravely and tired. Slowly, he sits up, but his eyelids feel too heavy and he can’t manage to open them up.

“Well, you better get used to it because Maggs just went into labor and you’ve got another child on the way.”

And just like that, Louis is awake. Like, really, _really_ awake. He jumps up and his eyes shoot open. They burn from the lack of sleep, but it doesn’t take him long to find Harry’s figure, hopping out of their walk-in closet with ha bobble hat already on and struggling to get a pair of fuzzy blue socks on.

“You can’t be serious.”

Once his little toes are covered, Harry straightens up by the foot of their bed. “Have I ever joked about procreation, Lewis?” He pulls on the covers until they’re stripped off of Louis and his husband is left shivering in the early morning cold. (Louis still doesn’t know how Harry manages to sleep naked every night, even after all these years.) “We need to go to the hospital _right now_. Maggs’ mum has been trying to call us for an hour. She said the doctors think it’s gonna be a pretty quick labor this time.” He snaps his fingers impatiently. “Louis! Why are you still in bed?”

Louis blinks. His vision is glassy now (but he’ll lie and say they’re just burning from the lights). He can’t seem to move, and this has never happened to him before. They’ve gone through this four times already, but he’s never once found himself dumfounded at the prospect of being a dad (again). Granted, none of their other four kids was born at the arsecrack of dawn, either, but still. Louis is shell shocked. Louis is going to be a dad.

For the fifth time.

“Lou—”

“Harry, we have four kids.”

His husband must notice the shaky tone of his voice because the glare in his eyes disappears in less than half a second. Another blink, and Harry is right here, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. “We do have four kids, yes,” he says softly, lovingly. Like a reminder of their life together. He squeezes Louis’ thigh, his other palm coming up to cup his jaw. Their eyes meet and Harry is sleepy (warm, soft, lovely in every sense). “And we’re going to have five very soon, too, you know. If you ever decide to get up.”

He leans forward for a quick peck of their lips and Louis tries not to purr at the deft fingers scratching lightly at his scalp.

“Harry, we have four kids and it’s three in the morning. What are we supposed to do with them while we’re at the hospital?”

Harry pouts, the realisation suddenly dawning on him. “I… I didn’t think of that, fuck.”

“And you’d think the fifth time around you would’ve caught on to a thing or two, hmm?” Louis teases.

“Lou, be serious. What are we supposed to do?”

“We can wake them up and take them with us?” he tries. “They’ll probably be too tired to put up a fight or notice anything.”

“ _No_.” Harry’s eyes harden. “We are not taking the kids to a hospital ever again, no thank you. Have you forgotten already what they did last time? When Liam broke his wrist?”

A few months back they’d all gone down as a family to Saint George to visit Uncle Liam. Somehow, still to Louis’ bemusement, they ended up having to be escorted out because Auggie, Teddy, and Darcy had gone into the nursery and switched up all the nametags on the newborns. Apparently Michelle looked more like a Fatima and Shawn looked more like a Burton, and the Tomlinsons were very lucky they’re a cute family or they probably would’ve been banned for life. Or something equally as dramatic. Lucky for them, Harry and Darcy can sweet talk their way out of even the stickiest of situations.

“We’re not waking them up and bringing them with us, Louis. Darcy and the twins have school tomorrow and Charlie has a playdate at Niall’s.” Harry’s frown deepens and his shoulders sag in defeat. “Should one of us just stay back with them? I don’t—”

“Hey, come here.” Louis pulls him with a tight fist around his sweater and kisses him square on the lips quickly, sweetly. “I can stay here,” he says. “It’s no big deal. I’ll meet you at the hospital as soon as I drop off the kids in the morning, okay? How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like Maggs is gonna break my hand again and I won’t have anyone there to kiss it better.”

“You’re a grown man, Harold. I’m sure you can handle it.” Still, Louis grabs one of Harry’s hands in his and kisses it empathetically anyway. “Now let me call a cab for you, I don’t want you driving to this hospital all worked up like this.”

Harry blows out a deep breath and shakes his hair out. He pulls his hat off and puts his hair up in a bun as Louis taps away at his phone and gets him settled. Louis can almost feel the nerves vibrating off of his husband. “I hope Maggie isn’t in too much pain right now,” he mumbles, biting at his thumb. “Charlie gave her such a rough time when he was coming out; it was so hard to watch. I still can’t believe she agreed to do it again for us.”

Louis sends a final quick text to their family chat (with all the mummies and daddies and brothers and sisters) before putting his phone aside. He opens his arms out wide, welcoming Harry to snuggle into his chest. All of his muscles ache from the early mornings and late nights recently, but it’s worth it when Harry comes to him and lines the tip of his nose to his pulse point and takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just have a short cuddle ‘til your cab gets here,” Louis whispers. He can feel himself sagging into the mattress, still a bit chilly without the covers, but warm nonetheless with Harry curled up in his arms. He runs his index and middle finger down the back of Harry’s neck and kisses his forehead, his eyes reluctantly slipping shut, even with the jackrabbit pace of his heart.

“You realize we still haven’t thought a name for him yet.”

“I still think Louis Tomlinson Junior has a great ring to it.”

“We’re not having a Junior in this family, Lewis, I already told you that.”

“Hey—ouch!” Louis pushes Harry’s prying teeth away from their valiant effort in nibbling away at his collarbones, laughing. “That’s only because you’re still trying to get a Harold Junior in ‘ere.”

Harry bites at his cheek, resting his full weight on top of Louis and tangling their legs together. “Sixteen years and you still can’t remember my real name. I feel like I should be offended, you know, what with our multiple homes and our four children.” He brushes Louis’ fringe away from his eyes and looks down at him with greens softened around the edges. “And you wonder why I don’t want a Louis Junior, hmm…”

Louis pushes up and steals another kiss. “Greedy little pest, aren’t you Harold.”

“Very. Very very. You know me.”

It’s much too early to be flirting as stupidly as they are, but Louis isn’t bothered. There are so few things he can tolerate at almost four in the morning (chocolate chip cookies, cuddles from Charlie, foot rubs) and his husband is possibly the only human on that list. He flips them over until he’s hovering over Harry’s long, bundled up (and very colorful) body, and presses their lips together. It’s closed-mouthed and teasing, more of Louis just wanting to keep their skin lingering close together than anything. “I would name him Hazza Junior if you wanted, you know.”

Harry laughs, “That sounds like an _awful_ name. Teddy would never let us live it down. Just promise me no Tomlinson Juniors, okay? Can we agree to that? What else is on the list?”

“S’all I got,” Louis mumbles against Harry’s mouth. “Maybe ask me when I’m not running on two hours of sleep.”

He’s cut off from another kiss when Harry brings a hand up to his mouth and stops him short. Nudging his chin down, Harry kisses his forehead. He wraps both arms around Louis’ neck until he collapses and then holds him close.

“If we stay like this you’re never gonna get up when your cab gets here,” Louis whispers into his ear, nosing behind the lobe and dropping a kiss.

“Only ‘cause you’ll keep me trapped underneath you forever.”

“Says the guy who can’t get his hands off me.”

“Keep up with the cheek and I can’t promise you I won’t bring a Harold Junior to the house in a few days.”

They go back and forth like that for another 10 minutes, tangled in the sheets, silly bites pressed into each others’ skin, every sentence obstructed with a laugh that is three parts sleepy and one part unconditionally happy. Eventually, the cab driver rings Louis and Harry has to go (not without a couple dozen more kisses) and Louis gets back in bed, pretending like he’ll be able to catch even a wink of sleep as their fifth baby is born into this world.

It’s just another day in November, after all.

❄ H ❄

“We should name him Li-on.”

“We are not naming your baby brother _Lion_ , Teddy. I’ve already told you that ten times.”

Louis catches Harry’s eye from across the room and winks, amused at his husband’s endless fight. “I don’t know, Hazza. _Lion Tomlinson_ has quite a nice ring to it, doesn’t it, Charlie?”

Charlie, who is sitting on his lap in their private hospital room, claps her hands and nods excitedly. “Yes, papa. I like Li-on!”

“C’mon, dad!” Teddy stomps his foot where he’s standing beside Harry in the rocking chair. He drops his head on Harry’s shoulder and pouts, looking up at him wide, pleading eyes. “Auggie got to name Charlie. You promised I could pick this time.”

Harry kisses his forehead, “That was your papa who made that promise, love. I definitely wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

“Well, papa is bigger than you! You have to listen to _him_!”

Harry stops his movements. “Your papa is _not_ bigger than me.”

Teddy gets right up in his face and squints, doing his best to be as intimidating as possible. Charlie bubbles out an amused laugh into Louis’ sweater at the sight of her brother and dad, and Louis has to admit that the two of them look equally ridiculous. “He’s _older_ than you. Papa gets the final say, always.”

“Louis.” Harry tries to bite at Teddy’s nose—but his eldest son moves away too fast for him—before getting his husband’s attention. “Tell your first born child that we are not naming his younger brother Lion, since you are older than—”

“Bigger too,” Louis pipes in.

“Not bigger, no—”

“Papa is small,” Darcy notes, her head tilted to the side. She and Auggie sit side-by-side beside Harry and the baby, swinging their legs in unison.

“ _Hey_ ,” Louis pouts at her. “I’m not small.”

Harry cackles loudly, throwing his head back and causing Teddy to laugh along with him. “Darcy is right, love,” he giggles at Louis with a sly wink, scrunching up his nose fondly. “You’re almost as small as our newest little Tomlinson here. Isn’t he, pumpkin?”

“So you can call him Pumpkin, but we can’t call him Li-on?” Teddy grumbles. He pokes incessantly at Harry’s dimple, poking and prodding until Harry finally rolls his eyes and gives him his attention.  “C’mon _daaaad_.”

And for a second it almost looks like Harry’s about to give in and tell the nurse to bring in the birth certificate, but he’s quickly saved by the small noise that comes out of Tomlinson Baby #5. It’s a small whimper, Louis barely catching a glimpse of a small fist tightening around Harry’s ring finger, and suddenly the whole room is quiet. Charlie stills on his lap, Auggie and Darcy stop swinging their legs, and beside Harry, Teddy’s hands drop to his side. His green eyes go wide as he stares down at his little brother, puffy lips hanging in a circle of awe.

Watching him, a memory flashes through Louis’ mind of a conversation he’d had with Auggie a few weeks ago. Harry had been away in Paris with Charlie so, obviously, the twins had taken their rightful place beside Louis in their bed. The memory is slightly fuzzy, but he recalls, still, the excitement in Auggie’s voice as he’d whispered across the pillow about _finally_ becoming an older brother. “Charlie and Darce are cool,” he’d explained, “but a little brother is gonna be sick. I’ll get to know what Teddy feels like now.”

Louis blinks and before he knows it, Charlie is jumping off of him to join Auggie and Darcy as they crowd over their newest, smallest siblings. Blue and green eyes stare down at the itty bitty bundle they’ll be able to take home in a few days, and Louis can see how badly all four of them want to reach out and touch; beg Harry to let them hold him, but don’t. They wait with baited breath for Tomlinson Baby #5’s next move, their thick eyelashes blinking slowly, all eight hands between them gripping onto one part of Harry’s sweater or another.

He wants to join them, to get a glimpse of his newest baby already adored by all his other babies. More than that, though, he just wants to sit here and watch them for a little longer because it’s so rare to have them all quiet at the same time. He doubts he’ll get another chance like this…ever, probably, unless him and Harry keep popping out more babies, just to keep their kids silently amused.

Which. Definitely isn’t the worst idea he’s had lately, that's for sure.

“Papa.”

“Hm?” Louis snaps his attention to where Auggie is beckoning him over. He stands on sleep-achy feet and makes his way over, crouching on his haunches to be at height level with his children.

“ _Small_ ,” Darcy whispers into his ear, but Louis adamantly ignores her.

Auggie steps aside to give Louis a better view. He throws an arm over his shoulder and rests his head on top of Louis’, snuggling close in his embrace, always clingiest when it’s quiet (just like his dad). “Can we name him Finn, please?” His voice is quiet, like he’s afraid of disturbing the baby.

 _Finn_. It sounds so precious, so warm and sweet, just like the eight-hour old baby in his husband’s arms, the one struggling to even open up his little eyes.

Louis loves it, immediately, and suddenly he can’t imagine a world where _Finn Tomlinson_ doesn’t exist. Harry must agree because his eyes meet Louis’ and they’re glassy, again, for the tenth time today. His husband sniffles and nods his head, in a moment that is shared just between the two of them.

And then that moment is very neatly broken when Charlie says, with the full confidence that only a Tomlinson offspring can muster, “What about Finnothy?”

Harry chuckles wetly, quickly wiping away at his red-rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes. “I don’t think that’s a real name, bug.”

“It should be.”

With his free arm, Louis tugs her in by the waist and kisses her head. It was a noble effort; he has to admit. “Why don’t we just keep it short for now? You like Finn, don’t you?”

In a hushed voice, Darcy adds, “ _Short like papa_.”

“Oi!” Darcy giggles proudly and jumps out of Teddy’s embrace to launch herself at Louis’ back. She nuzzles her face into the back of his head—a habit she picked up from Harry, no doubt—and Louis is just one Tomlinson away from tipping over on his arse. “You keep it up with these _short_ quips and we’ll see who drops you off at Naomi’s house tomorrow tonight.”

“That’s what I have daddy for,” she responds back lightening-fast, patting Louis’ head condescendingly.

“Good luck trying to get ‘im away from Finn for even a minute, munchkin.”

“So we’re sticking to Finn?” Harry asks, cutting off the two of them off smoothly. His eyes float from one Tomlinson to the next, checking for approval, until they land on Louis and stop. They look just as open and eager as they did at three in the morning, when they were abruptly woken up, and at nine in the morning, when Louis had finally gotten to the hospital. Louis stares at him and it feels like he can feel Harry’s heart racing against his fingertips, even though they’re not touching. He wants to lean over and kiss his husband’s dry, worry-bitten lips, but he’s got one Tomlinson on his back and two more in his arms, and from the corner of his eye he can see how desperately Teddy wants to join them.

So he doesn’t. He can wait for a more private moment—God knows he’s had years of practice—but he nods his head and agrees. “I think Finn is perfect.”

The look that Harry gives him in return assures Louis that he wants to kiss him just as badly.

❄ H ❄

Harry doesn’t know why they thought a fifth baby was a smart idea. He doesn’t know why Louis brought it up, and he definitely doesn’t know why he agreed to it so quickly, without even so much as a second thought. They have _four_ children. Four. He understands that Louis is obsessed with football and coaching the kids’ league hasn’t helped his baby fever at all, but Harry was always sure that the joke about them having a family the size of a footie team was supposed to be just that— _a joke_.

Now, two weeks into December, Harry’s got a pair of twins running around the kitchen—muddy and naked, _God_ knows how—a three-year-old feeding the kitten the cupcakes Darcy needs to take for school tomorrow, and Darcy herself balling her eyes out and sitting on the kitchen table with melted ice cream all over her lap.

There is also a one-month old infant currently throwing up on his shoulder while wailing, but Harry is trying his very best to ignore that. (He’s not doing a great job.)

The Tomlinson house is, needless to say, complete and utter chaos. Harry is running on (maybe) 40 minutes of sleep combined in the last week, he can’t remember the last time he washed his hair, and he’s pretty sure he poured sprinkles into the tomato soup they had for lunch. He’s ready to throw in the towel and he can _definitely_ feel a migraine beginning to throb at his temple.

They should have had less kids. They could have stopped at _twins._ Fuck, they could’ve continued frolicking from one country to another, never having to worry about changing 12 diapers a day or attending PTA meetings. It could have been him and Louis and a very private island, the two of them very naked and very drunk at every hour of the day.

But. No. He is 32, recovering from a cold, and juggling five kids all on his own. In December.

He’s about four seconds away from breaking down and crying right there in the kitchen when he hears the front door being opened.

“Papa!” Auggie and Teddy screaming in unison, leaving muddy footprints as they running out to the foyer, undoubtedly ruining the carpets on their way.

Harry’s going to have to call the cleaners, he realizes. (Again.) At the very least, Louis’ entrance gets Darcy to finally stop crying. If Harry weren’t so overwhelmed, he probably would be slightly peeved that Louis has that kind of affect on her without having to try, even though he’s been actively tending to her needs _while_ juggling 10 other tasks at the same time. It’s not fair, but that’s life in the Tomlinson household.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s going on in here?”

Harry looks up from where he’s whipping Finn’s mouth clean to find Louis stood at the door, no dirty little boys in sight. “Where are Auggie and Teddy?” he responds in a panic instead.

Louis picks up the pan off cupcakes away from Charlie. He shoos Sir Beary the Cat away and scoops their youngest daughter up in his arms, delivering a loud kiss to her chubby cheek. “Told ‘em the first one to get showered and put clothes on gets to come with me to Donny next time I visit.” Almost directly on cue, Harry hears the sound of the water running upstairs and sighs a breath of relief. “Why’s little miss Darcy here such a sticky mess, hmm?”

He watches Louis walk toward her on the table, careful of the trail of mud and cupcake crumbs and melted ice cream slush. He’s barefoot, again, even though it’s well below freezing outside. “She and Char had a row, hence the cupcakes and the ice cream.”

“I don’t understand. Was the ice cream supposed to be a weapon or, like, for emotional relief? How did she even manage to get the ice cream out of the freeze? She can barely reach the fridge door.”

“I don’t know, Lou,” Harry groans, voice laced thick with exhaustion. His migraine is growing with every passing second now and he desperately wants to lie down for a minute. “Can you please just go run her a bath and start on the laundry? I’m not—”

In one swift motion, Louis manages to set Charlie down beside her sister, wipe both of their faces clean with baby wipes—that he pulls out of thin air—and make his way over to Harry. “Give me Finn,” he says, like it’s not up for discussion. He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond before he gets the infant into his arms, cradling the back of his head with a careful palm and using his other to rub Finn’s back soothingly.

Harry feels the tension slipping from his shoulders almost instantly, and for a second that makes him feel terrible. He doesn’t resent his kids, never. No matter how loud and dirty and overwhelming they can get, Harry would pick them over every private island in the entire world. Every single time.

It’s when Louis pulls him in by the waist and kisses his temple—the one throbbing wildly with ache—that Harry takes a deep breath and remembers that he’s not in this alone. (Ever.)

It’s hard, and it’s trying, but Harry never has to do this alone.

“Go and run yourself a bath, love. I can take it from here.” Louis’ voice is only for him to hear in the quiet of their messy kitchen. He kisses Harry’s temple again, and then a third time, before leaning back to kiss him on the lips. It’s quick and a bit cold, traces of winter lining the curve of his lips and tips of his fingers where they sneak under the back of Harry’s jumper. “Lock the door and give yourself the night off, okay? I’ll bring you dinner when it’s ready. How’s your head feeling?”

Harry would throw himself into Louis’ arms right then and there if he were less worried about the safety of their baby. He’ll never understand how Louis just _knows_ , all the bloody time. Instead, he settles for wrapping his arms around his husband’s middle and burying his face in the crook of his neck, just like Finn on the other side. He would be more ashamed of his clinginess, but it’s been such a long week with Louis away with the Rovers, that he thinks he deserves to be just as needy as he wishes.

That’s what husbands are for, he’s learned.

“I’m so glad you’re home, Lou,” he exhales in relief.

It’s never this consistently troublesome in the Tomlinson house, but these last four days have been something like an anomaly and Harry is glad that they’re over and Louis is _home_. If this were a few years ago, maybe Harry would’ve felt self-conscious about his parenting, about needing Louis there to fix things, but he’s older now and it isn’t like that anymore. He knows that needing his spouse is never something has to be ashamed of; that no relationship works without cooperation, but especially not where their children are involved.

So he whispers, “ _I missed you_ ,” and it’s not an admission of weakness. It’s not Harry waving the white flag, or tagging himself out. It’s simply the fact of the matter: Harry will always miss Louis when they’re apart.

Louis’ presses his palm, now entirely under Harry’s jumper, against the small of his bare back. He curls his hand around Harry’s (still) soft and (still) very much there love handle, and brings him in as close as possible. Behind them, Darcy and Charlie starting grumbling with each other again, but Louis smells like peppermint coffee and dewy grass, and Harry wants to keep his mouth pressed to his skin every waking moment of their lives.

“It’s good to be home, angel.”

And even if Louis doesn’t quite understand in that very moment just exactly what he’s walked himself into, it doesn’t matter. Harry believes him, and Harry knows it’s the truth.

(Louis will always miss Harry when they’re apart.)

❄ L ❄

A week later, Louis is just as tired as Harry. They’re halfway through December and now they _both_ have the honor of looking and feeling like zombies, courtesy of their Tomlinson offspring. Louis doesn’t know what it is about December, but every year it completely wears them down. The kids finish up school for the holidays, then there’s Louis’ birthday, followed by Christmas, followed by Charlie’s birthday, followed by New Year’s. Somewhere in the middle of all that chaos they’re supposed to fit in shopping for gifts and dinners with their families.

Louis is laying in bed wondering how on earth they’re going to survive the next two weeks when Harry finally comes to bed.

Of course, he is not without a sleepy (but not quite asleep) baby Finn in his arms.

“Little guy got to ya, huh?” Louis smirks knowingly, patting the empty space beside him.

Every night since Finn was born almost three weeks ago, Harry has made a habit of checking on him before going to bed. And because Harry has absolutely zero self-control where babies are involved, his little check up almost always ends with him bringing Finn back to their room for one final cuddle, every single night. He falls asleep with Finn on his chest (every night), mumbles some sleepy, awed words to Louis (every night), and it is Louis who has to take Finn back to his crib (every night).

There are worse ways to end the day.

“He looked so cute, I couldn’t help myself,” Harry defends. He sits down on the bed carefully, sliding backward until he’s rested against the headboard. “Was I wrong?” he asks. He tilts his arms to give Louis a better view of their son, chubby-cheeked and pink all over. He has the longest eyelashes Louis’ ever seen on a baby and just the barest little wisps of almost-blond hair. He fights to keep his eyes open, one small fist tight around Harry’s t-shirt like he’s physically clinging to stay in his dad’s presence for just a moment longer.

Louis’ pretty sure at the rate they're going, it’s going to be Finn who becomes dependent on their late night cuddles.

“He looks like you,” Louis whispers in awe. He tucks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, kisses his neck. “Got your eyes and everything. Even your cute little octopus nose.”

“I keep telling you _octopus nose_ isn’t a thing, why do you insist—”

Louis cuts him off with a hand to his mouth, chuckling. “Shhh, you’ll wake him up.”

At the sound of Louis’ voice, Finn scrunches up his round nose. He blinks languidly, searching for his dads in the hazy gold of the bedroom. They land on Louis after a moment, light, sea grass green eyes staring up at him in awe. Louis leans down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Hi, button,” he hums, lips lingering over Finn’s soft cheeks before kissing his forehead. “Had a long day, didn’t you, petal?”

“He went through 11 diapers today. Finny’s not the only one who’s had a long day, hmm? Wore your dads out, didn’t you, little man?” Harry cradles Finn close to his chest and rocks him lightly, careful of Louis wrapped around his back. “You know, I was worried he was gonna be a crier. He wouldn’t let me sleep for _two minutes_ that entire week you were gone, it was so awful. But…” Harry pauses. He runs the back of his index finger under Finn’s chubby chin and sighs. “He’s been so good, otherwise.”

Louis watches Harry’s features in awe, the tip of his nose poking into his husband’s cheek. They’re very close (they’re always close) and he inhales a deep breath. Harry smells like baby powder and sweat-damp skin. Louis kisses the edge of his jaw. “Hazza?” he whispers, noting Finn’s droopy eyes and how his grip around Harry’s shirt loosens.

“Yeah, baby?” Harry doesn’t take his eyes off of Finn, but he leans further into Louis’ embrace and rests his temple against the side of his neck. His shoulder melts with relief and Louis kisses the top of his head.

“You know how every year I tell you I don’t want anything for my birthday—”

“And every year I get you something for your birthday?”

Louis doesn’t need to see his husband’s face to know he’s smiling. “Exactly. You think maybe this year we could, like, _actually_ do nothing? Please?”

Harry’s lax body tenses and his arms still. He looks up from underneath his lashes and frowns. “You don’t wanna do anything for your birthday? Why? We always—”

“But we don’t really need to, do we?” Louis thumbs at the space between Harry’s furrowed brows, kissing it to try and get the tension to go away. “I don’t want you and the kids running around, having to put something together when we could just have a nice day in as a family. Right? The hols are going to be hectic enough as it is, you shouldn’t have even more stress on your shoulders, love. Especially with Finn around now, too. Look at me, H. You can’t tell me you don’t you agree.”

“But it’s your _birthday_ , Lou—”

“And I’m going to have so many more,” Louis tries. “Come on, don’t give me that pout. It’s not that big a deal.”

Harry’s frown only deepens. “You say that every year, but it _should_ be a big deal. Hold on.” Harry raises a finger and sits up. “I’m going to put Finn to bed, but this conversation isn’t over.”

He gets up, Finn tucked under his chin, and walks out of the room. Louis watches the slight sway of his hips, head tilted to the side and missing him already. It’s dumb, but Louis can’t manage to care as he sits there, fiddling with his thumbs and waiting patiently.

If Harry looked good walking out, there are no words to describe how good he looks walking in. (Even at 32, even with the bags under his eyes and his mismatched socks.) He closes the door behind himself and settles back on the bed, pushing Louis onto his back and sliding in between his legs. Louis tucks a wayward curl behind his ear and kisses his forehead, arms coming around to circle his husband’s broad shoulders. Harry’s feather-thin t-shirt is soft under his skin, a little worn out. He pokes his finger into one of the holes by Harry’s underarms and traces small circles into his skin.

“Why can’t I just have this for me birthday?” Louis asks quietly.

Harry nuzzles into his sternum, nosing his way up to the base of his neck. “You have this every day,” he whispers, words muffled against his skin. “Doesn’t count. You know that. I love you, but you know that.”

“Then love me enough to treat my birthday like it’s any other day.”

Harry picks his head up. He looks deep into Louis’ eyes, imploringly, and Louis can see small traces of petulance and hurt in his warm greens. (He swears he can also see the cogs in Harry’s head turning, trying to figure a sneaky loophole out of this, but he ignores it.) “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Louis’ heart beats loud in his chest. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs. “If that’s what you want, I can do that. I’m not saying the kids won’t put up a fight, but I’ll give it my best.”

And Louis _knows_ the kids are going to put up a fight. He’s dreading them inevitably coming to him, running and screaming, berating him for once again trying to get out of a proper birthday celebration. He doesn’t doubt that Harry will tell them the news and ask for them to respect Louis’ wishes, but he also doesn’t doubt that Harry won’t exactly put up a fight when they protest.

“Promise?”

Harry wiggles around to get one of his arms free. “Pinky swear,” he says, holding his pinky finger out.

Louis locks their pinkies together and smiles, a wide, pink-cheeked grin on his face. “Thank you, baby. Now, come here and give me a proper snogging before you fall asleep on me again.”

❄ H ❄

It’s less than 24 hours later that Harry breaks the news to the kids. They’re on their way home from the last day of school—Charlie and Finn at home with Louis already—and it takes Teddy approximately half a second to start complaining.

“That’s not fair!” he grunts, kicking the passenger seat in front of him.

Harry catches his eye in the mirror. “What did I say about kicking in the car, Graham?”

“Sorry.” (Harry knows he doesn’t mean it.) “Even though I don’t really feel it.”

He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning and letting the kids see him crack. “It’s okay, petal,” he sighs. The last time they’d dealt with a situation like this—Darcy’s birthday two years’ prior—Teddy and Auggie had moved heaven and earth to throw her a party anyway. He can only imagine what they had in mind for Louis. “I know you love celebrating birthdays, but if this is what your papa wants, we should respect that, shouldn’t we? Think of it as a birthday gift for him. Right? How does that sound?”

The stoplight turns red and Darcy says, in a very displeased voice, “Sounds like you think we’re daft, dad.”

“I don’t think you’re daft, love,” Harry chuckles. He makes a mental reminder to shorten her weekly group calls with Lottie and Gemma. “But you can see where your papa is coming from, can't you?” He twists his neck to look at them; Darcy sat in between her older brothers, all three of them frowning with their arms crossed.

He’s tempted to take a photo because they look so fucking cute, especially when they’re grumpy like this. He doesn’t, though, because Auggie recently learned the word _patronize_ , and Harry hasn’t had enough coffee today to deal with that. “You can just give all the love and cuddles you were going to give him for his birthday on Christmas morning. You only have to wait a day longer, that’s all.”

Teddy narrows his stormy green eyes at him. “The light is green, _dad_.” He waits for Harry to sigh and turn around before continuing. “How do you know we didn’t get him other presents?”

Because they’re all under 10 and don’t have a steady income. Also, Auggie and Teddy spent their allowance this week on a new football and Sir Beary the Cat ate Darcy’s.

That’s how he knows.

“Did you _have_ other presents for him?”

“Well you won’t know now, will you!” Teddy says in exasperation. Harry swears he throws his hands in the air. (He tries his best not to burst into laughter.)

“You can wrap all the gifts you have and put them under the Christmas tree.”

“But it’s not the same!”

Harry sighs, again, for what feels like the 28th time today. “Then you know what? You can pick this up with your papa when we get home. The only reason he asked me to discuss this with you is because he knows you all love him enough to understand where he’s coming from. Don’t you?”

The car goes quiet as Harry navigates the last few blocks of their route. He knows he’s just hit a soft spot, and he hates that he had to do so. He’s not good with being the thought da.  

“You make us seem like the bad guys,” Darcy whispers quietly.

“Hey, no, don’t say that, come on. I know you all love papa, we both know that. We never doubt that for a minute, ever. We love all of you so much and it makes us so happy knowing we have the kindest, most thoughtful children in the entire world—”

“But…”

“But…” Harry pulls into their driveway and turns the car off. He turns around in his seat again and faces his babies, his heart racing with ridiculous affection. “But your papa and I don’t need gifts or parties or anything from any of you to know that you love us. You have nothing to prove to us. That’s how family works.”

He watches the three of them hang their heads in defeat. Teddy fiddles with the clasp of his seatbelt, Darcy with the hem of her uniform, Auggie with his ring finger. Sometimes Harry forgets that being a parent means seeing small parts of himself in other human beings, even something as miniscule as his nervous habits. It makes his heart burst with adoration every time he sees little part of him in his children, though, especially right now. It takes a lot of willpower for him to not crawl into the backseat with them and have a cuddle, right there in the driveway.

“How ‘bout we go inside and I make us some hot chocolate. How’s that sound? I know there’s a certain little boy who’s been waiting very patiently all day to see you lot.”

Darcy picks her head up. With bright, excited eyes and two of her front teeth missing, she jokes, “Oh, is papa home?”

And even though just two seconds ago Harry was ready to have himself a nice cry, Darcy’s ongoing quip about Louis’ size sets him off and he breaks into a wild bout of giggles, slapping his thigh as his eyes water up. His giggles turn into uncontrollable cackles, so loud that he almost doesn’t hear Teddy and Auggie and Darcy joining him.

“Oh, God,” he pants, “I can’t wait to tell him you said that.”

❄ L ❄

There is Something Odd going on in the Tomlinson house. Louis doesn’t know what, exactly, but he has a sneaking suspicion that his kids are up to no good. The only problem is that he doesn’t have the slightest idea what they could possibly be doing. They’re _never_ up to any good, in all fairness, but this week especially he is sure that they’re up to _something_.

There’s a bit of sneaking around and lots of mumbling that stops as soon as he walks into the room. It’s like his four kids have taken a pact of silence, but it’s not mean or hurtful. It’s just like living with a watered down, less excitable version of his kids. At least Finn doesn’t know how to speak yet, or else Louis really would have feared a mutiny in his own home.

“Hazza!” Louis sneaks into the kitchen after dinner one night and hisses at his husband. He checks to his left and right, and then behind himself to make sure he’s alone before walking up to him by the sink and getting as close as possible. He is a man on a mission, but he’s very much tempted to tell his mission to fuck off for the sake of a quick snog. But. No. _Focus_. “Hey, have you noticed anything weird about the kids lately?”

Harry takes his precious time putting the leftovers into tupperware. He shrugs his shoulder, but nuzzles his cheek against the top of Louis’ head affectionately and rolls his eyes with fondness. (Neither of them purrs; Louis swears on his life.) “You mean are they plotting our deaths or…?”

“No! Be serious for a second, Haz. They’re _up_ to something, I know it.”

“ _Lou_ , baby.” Harry closes one of the lids and turns around so they’re face-to-face, chest-to-chest. He pulls Louis in by the hips and circles his arms around his shoulders. Louis can feel the heat between them deep in his chest, even through two layers of clothing. “In case you’ve forgotten,” Harry says with obvious fondness in his voice, “last week Teddy admitted to burying potatoes in the background and Auggie poured all of my nail polish into a bowl so he could paint his bicycle. Darcy tried to sneak Sir Beary into her rugsack and take him to school. And, lest forget, Charlie still sucks on her thumb and Finn poos himself five times a day.” He chuckles, “We haven’t exactly got MI6 to worry about here, love. What are you so worried about?”

“Oh, come _on_ , Harold. Give them some credit,” Louis harrumphs, “they’re _our_ children. They were basically born knowing how to sneak around and keep secrets. Plotting together behind our backs…”

“Would you like me to ring Liam and ask him to give them a lesson or something?”

“Yes, please. If you could.”

Harry pinches his shoulder teasingly. “Stop being paranoid, your children are not trying to kill you. Now come, help me hide the rest of the cheesecake in the back of the fridge so Teddy doesn’t try and ask for some at breakfast.”

Louis sighs, but does as he’s told. His husband is right. Their kids are loving and kind—and not old enough to know how to Google sinister ploys on the internet. He has nothing to worry about, surely; they’re all most likely just playing around and having a laugh, getting into the merry ole’ Christmas spirit. That’s it, that’s all it is.

Except the next day he walks into the laundry room and finds Teddy, Auggie, and Darcy huddled over a piece of paper, bickering amongst themselves. Louis does his best to tear them apart with a laundry basket on one his hips, but as soon as he gets them settled the three of them dash out of the room, Charlie leaving his side to run after her older siblings. It happens so fast that Louis doesn’t get a chance to catch a glimpse of the paper, much less ask the kids what on earth they’re fighting over.

At dinner, later that day, all four of them come to the table 10 minutes late with Spiderman plasters covering suspicious ‘papercuts’ and their skin sweat-damp and sticky. Their little baby hairs are all curled up like they’ve been through some sort of physically trying task, but when Harry asks them about it Auggie shrugs his shoulders and says _they were coloring_.

Louis has to force himself to not bite at them with a sardonic response.

Lucky for his kids, he has the patience of a saint. Also, Finn chooses that very moment to throw up on his lap, so there is that as well.

❄ H ❄

December mornings are a hard in a lot of ways. They’re almost always cold and wet, usually beginning before the sun has even risen, in Harry and Louis’ case. If they’re lucky, Finn will let them get at least three consecutive hours of sleep before they have to tend to the others, but it’s not often that they’re so lucky.

December mornings are dark and dreary, often times depressing. Their makeshift cocoon of bed sheets and thick covers keeps them pressed close together, but it’s rare that they get to bathe in each other’s warmth before one of the kids comes running in, or one of their alarms goes blaring off.

December mornings are hard, but the day before Louis’ birthday, the morning of December 23rd is not hard for Harry at all.

“ _Looouuu_ ,” Harry sings into his husband’s ear in his sweetest, sleep-ridden voice. (It’s thick and gravely, but it always gets the job done.)

It’s half past 10, the sun is out, it’s snowing lightly, the kids have all been picked up by Liam, and Harry hovers over Louis’ body hungrily, nipping down the pale column of his neck to get him to wake up.

“Baby.” His kisses the corner of Louis’ jaw. “Baby, wake up. Please.”

Louis makes a muffled noise in response and turns his face into the pillow. Harry nibbles at his stubble without much bite. He hasn’t had a chance to shave these last few days, but Louis hasn’t for nearly a month now. (Harry won’t pretend like it bothers him.) It does nothing to wake Louis up, however.

Harry kisses the back of his eyes and the bruised brown bags beneath them; reverently. They are a reminder of how hard Louis works for their family, how completely he devotes himself to their kids. Harry loves him, and every part of him. He brushes his lips just barely against long lashes that still fan Louis’ razor-sharp cheekbones, remembers a time when he told the whole world he how much he adored them.

(He still does; he always will.)

“Love.” Harry kisses the side of his nose, and then the other side, and then the tip. “Rise and sun, angel, come on.”

He kisses the bow of his husband’s thin lips; the corners of them, where they’re just starting to quirk upward.

“I know you’re awake,” he whispers conspiringly, nibbling on Louis’ chin.

“M’not,” Louis grumbles, his mouth barely moving. “This is all a dream. Go back to sleep, Harold. I’m not really here.”

When Harry laughs, it’s almost as soft at the skin by Louis’ temple. He noses wayward strands away, just far enough to be able to drop a kiss. He makes a reminder to run them a long overdue bubble bath later, just so he can spend extra time massaging Louis’ scalp.

“Liar. You know how I know?”

Louis turns his body just slightly, likely in an attempt to press close to Harry. He hums as Harry kisses across his forehead, though, and Harry counts his blessings. They don’t get as many moments to be careful and slow with each other like this recently, so Harry is adamant in pacing himself; dragging this out for as long as he can. A sleep-soft husband, just a day shy of 35, is very high up on his list of priorities.

“How d’you know?” Louis mumbles around a yawn, his words almost lost against the underside of Harry’s jaw.

Harry slides one of his legs in between Louis’ thighs and nudges upwards, slowly, slowly, until he finds what he’s been searching for. He presses their middles together, nails digging into the softness of Louis’ hip, and grins to himself. “That’s how I know.”

Harry may not love December mornings, but he loves every day that he gets to wake up next to his husband; every chance he gets to feel him riled up and ready to go; hard and heavy against his skin.

He ruts his bare thigh between Louis’ and it’s enough to finally get his eyes to shoot open. Louis’ blunt nails search for something to hold onto before they land on the curve of Harry’s thin waist. “Why are you naked?” he gasps. His hips swivel downward, the movement giving friction against Harry’s own equally hard cock.

“Would you like me to put some clothes on?”

“No no no,” Louis answers quickly, hands sliding up Harry’s back. They settle around his neck and pull him down, hard, until he collapses, Louis’ face buried in the crook of his damp neck. Harry would be embarrassed about how easy they are for each other, if the very truth of the matter didn’t actually turn him on even more instead. “Never. No clothes.”

“Let me get you out of yours, then,” Harry responds.

He doesn’t immediately move into action, though. He’s too distracted by how good it feels to have Louis against him like this, to rub together like they’re still teenagers without the patience to go any further. He can feel Louis leaking through the thin material of his pants and it’s a dizzying—and equally addictive—realization that it is him doing this to Louis; that _he_ has this kind of effect on Louis. He has no fucking clue how 16-year-old Harry Styles managed to talk his way into Louis Tomlinson’ pants, but here he is, a full 16 years later, still amazed that he has.

A blur of movements later, Louis’ pants are finally tossed across the room and his shirt is nowhere to be seen. Harry doesn’t wait for a single second before presses their bare bodies together from head to toe and continues what he started. He grinds his cock against Louis’, unwilling to move his hands where they grip onto his husband’s hipbones in a vice-like grip.

“You feel so good,” Louis pants into his ear, snapping his hips for emphasis. “Always so easy for me, aren’t you?”

Harry isn’t sure how he responds, but he thinks he makes some sort of noise of agreement. It’s hard to focus when his entire body is thrumming with pleasure; when he can feel blunt nails digging into his shoulders, sure to leave reminders for tomorrows. He wasn’t supposed to lose himself in Louis this quickly—was supposed to maintain at least a small level of control; keep the upper-hand in some part—but he doesn’t know why he thought he could.

He’ll blame it on the fact that they haven’t had a chance to get each other off all week, that’s all.

“ _Lou_ ,” he grunts, surprising himself with how heavy and desperate he sounds, even to his own ears. “Can I do something for you, baby? Let me, please.”

He can feel Louis’ eyelashes fluttering shut in pleasure, his sharp little teeth mouthing at his earlobe. “ _Yeah_ , baby. Anything—anything you want, love. You can have me,” he says with a dazed air in his voice.

Harry allows himself only a handful more ruts before he finally slides down Louis’ body. Sixteen years and he’s still mesmerized by the sharp peaks of his hipbones; the subtle curve of his belly; the soft gold of his thighs. He could lose himself in Louis. (He has lost himself in Louis.)

He always wants to lose himself in Louis.

Harry settles on his belly in between Louis’ legs, arms curved up to hug each meaty thigh and push them up. He waits until Louis’ feet are rested flat against the mattress before he kisses him where he knows his husband will melt for him.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis gasps almost instantly, a fist clasped tight around his hair. “H, baby.”

“Is that good, Lou?” Harry mouths at the underside of Louis’ cock, right at the base, and waits for him to respond.

“ _Yes_.”

“Want more, don’t you?”

“Ngh— _please_ , please.”

Harry licks around his base until Louis is nice and wet before wrapping his lips around his balls and taking him into his mouth. His hearing is muffled slightly when Louis’ thighs come squeezing around his head like a force to be reckoned with, but he doesn’t miss the guttural noise that he lets out; doesn’t need to see him to know how obscenely he’s arching off the bed, if the sharp pain at his scalp is anything to go by.

It feels rewarding to make Louis feel this good, but it isn’t what Harry had in mind when he sent the kids off 30 minutes ago. (Not even close; Harry is ready to ruin his husband and as far as he’s concerned, they haven’t even begun yet.) He suckles for a moment longer and then moves his lips south, leaving a trail of wet kisses until Louis finally catches on to his plan and swivels his hips to get Harry’s mouth in the right spot.

The second Harry’s tongue meets Louis’ entrance, he’s almost certain they both let out noises so sinful and loud that their neighbors, as far as they may be, _must_ hear them. He wishes he could keep his eyes open, if only to see how pink and soft Louis’ rim looks, or even to catch a glimpse of how pretty and flushed Louis’ skin must be. He wants to taste every little bead of sweat that trickles down Louis’ skin on the flat of his tongue; taste him for days to come.

“Can you—” A far-away, hazy version of Louis’ voice pleads to him. “Please, baby.”

Harry can’t remember the last time Louis said _please_ this often in such a short period of time, but the part of him that thrives off being good for Louis kicks in immediately. He noses between Louis’ cheeks and inhales deep, prepares himself for the long run. He can’t imagine a lovelier way to die than between his husband’s thighs.

He starts out with a few experimental licks; long ones that trail up and down, more to get Louis wet and used to the sensation than anything else. Harry is grateful that neither of them mind getting messy in bed, especially right now. But it doesn’t take him long to transition into just small kitten licks then, aimed right at the center of Louis’ entrance and greedy; hungry. He tastes him on the tip of his tongue, knowing that the slow speed of it will leave Louis in a mindless space, unsure of whether he wants to melt into jelly or snap like a bow, ready to come.

And for Harry, his favorite part of eating his husband out is when he finally gets his tongue inside and feels the encompassing warmth of Louis around him. He’s got Louis’ thighs squeezed tight around his head, almost suffocating him in the most blissful way. His face in buried deep between his cheeks, making it hard to breath and leaving the good majority of his face wet and sticky. He’s proud to say that years upon years of practice have made this an art for him, something he’s considered adding to his resume on more than one occasion. (Granted, if he needed a resume to begin with, but still. It’s the thought that counts.) Harry doesn’t know, even now, what it says about him that nothing grounds him the way that getting lost between Louis’ legs does.

He can hear himself making sloppy noises, fucking down on the mattress and snapping his hips for some kind of friction. It’s not close enough, but it’s something. The muscles in his back ache as he tightens his arms around Louis’ thighs and fucks his tongue in deeper, faster. He relishes in the heady taste of Louis on his tongue, knows he won’t leave be able to get it out of his mind for days.

Slowly, unaware of how much time has passed, he can feel Louis getting looser. He’s proud of his work, even more when he goes to push a finger in and it glides easily.

Louis keens, a high noise that reeks of desperation escaping his bitten lips. “Harry. Harry, _H_. Love your—love your mouth. Your hands. Love _you_ ,” his voice cracks, “but m’— _close_ , baby. Right there, love. Faster, please.”

Harry fucks his finger in faster, tongue right beside it. It doesn’t take him long to find Louis’ spot and Louis doesn’t shy from letting him know. His digs the heel of his foot into Harry’s back and pulls on his hair so hard that it sends a spasm of adrenaline through Harry’s system. He has to stop rutting down against the mattress just to keep from coming right then and there and Louis’ needy chants of his name don’t help his case either.

“Baby, come here,” Louis calls, even with this entire lower half wrapped like sin around Harry. “Wanna kiss you, come—”

Harry surges up his husband’s body and kisses him, hot and fast. He can feel himself getting Louis’ face wet, but neither of them seem to care so long as Harry keeps moving his finger. He’s grateful for the distraction of Louis tongue chasing his—even if his wrist is starting to ache just the smallest bit—because when their cocks meet and slide together, Harry completely loses himself.

“Love you,” he pants. He can hear how weak he sounds now that he doesn’t have Louis’ thighs pillowing him off and it only riles him up even more. “Love your mouth.” He bites at Louis’ upper lip, sucks it into his mouth. “Your legs.” Runs his fingertips down his left thigh, squeezing a palm around the meat of it and hoisting it up over his hip. It gives him the angle to fuck down against Louis harder, a little faster. “Love tasting you when you get like this.”

“Like what?” Louis asks, breathing heavily against his mouth and chasing his tongue back inside it.

“ _Easy_ ,” Harry answers simply, “for me.”

Even in his lust-ridden haze, Louis still tacks on to his words from earlier and laughs, bubbly and fond, against Harry’s bruised lips. Maybe it’s their whole _fate and soulmates_ thing, but when Harry finally opens his eyes he finds his husband doing just the same. Long eyelashes butterfly open in the morning light, stealing a breath from Harry.

He is weak. And so, _so_ easy for Louis. It’s embarrassing.

“Hi.”

“ _Hi_ ,” Louis whispers back sweetly.

“Should it be weird that we’re still humping like teenagers?”

His husband throws his head back in a cackle, sweaty fringe drooping over his eyes and revealing all the red-purple marks Harry’d left on his neck earlier. He’s still the loveliest sight, even 16 years later. (Harry kisses his chin, just because he loves him and he can.) “S’not weird.” Louis punctuates his words by circling his legs around Harry’s waist and pulling him in closer. “But I _am_ very close and if you don’t make me come soon I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on you.”

Harry sneaks a hand in between them and circles it around their cocks, quickly jerking them off. “That’s— _a lie_ ,” he grunts, barely coherent. “Liked it better when he couldn’t speak.”

“Kinky.”

“Still so loud, ‘ren’t you?”

Louis twines his fingers into Harry’s hair. A glimmer of recognition flashes in his eyes and he massages lightly at his scalp, almost like an apology for being so rough earlier, even if Harry did enjoy it. “S’cos I’m so easy for you, innit?”

When they finally come—together, like always—it’s with laughter bubbling out of them uncontrollably, Harry’s face buried in Louis’ neck and Louis’ arms hugging him close. They may be in their 30s, but Harry feels like he’s 16 again.

It’s the best morning he’s had in a while.

❄ L ❄

Louis wakes up the morning of December 24th to complete silence. He blinks a few times just make sure he’s really, actually awake, because he can’t remember the last time the house was this quiet. His pinches his wrist as his vision clears up and _nope_ —definitely awake, but no less confused. The only thing stranger is the empty bed beside him and the clock on the wall that tells him it’s well past 11 in the morning.

Louis hasn’t slept in this late since…

Since before he became a father. Since his _20s_.

“Harry?” he calls out, noticing that their bedroom door is closed. He sits up and projects his voice. “Hazza!”

He counts to 10 in his head and when he doesn’t get a response, he frowns to himself. It’s very unlike Harry to not answer him back.

Louis tells himself that his husband probably went grocery shopping with the kids—yes, of course, because they have Christmas dinner to host tomorrow, duh—and that Harry would never leave him alone on his birthday.

His non-birthday. Louis’ very unimportant, special day of non-birth where the Tomlinsons all gather ‘round and enjoy the merry good ways of Christmas Eve. Completely unrelated to Louis’ nonexistent birthday. That’s obviously what it is.

Except when he walks out of their bedroom, the first thing he notices is that the garland they’d wrapped around the staircase last week is no longer there. He takes a step back, tilts his head, and notices that the mistletoe above his and Harry’s door is gone, too.

“Hmm,” he hums under his breath. He scratches his belly confusedly and slowly makes his way down the hall.

All of the kids’ bedroom doors are open and bare of their decorations, revealing empty rooms one after another. The full length snowman decorations on Charlie and Darcy’s room that were just there when Louis put them to bed last night, are now missing. Auggie and Finn’s door, which previously had a Christmas tree complete with its golden star on top and little 3D bobbles, is nowhere to be seen, either. Even the blue and white wreath on Finn’s door with his name engraved in the middle, is gone.

It’s like every sign of Christmas has been wiped away completely.

In a sudden panic, Louis runs down the stairs, straight to the living room, and stops abruptly.

Their Christmas tree is missing. Their beautiful, magnificent, ridiculously large and overwhelming tree is _gone_ and there’s not even a small tinsel of evidence left behind. Louis heart sinks at the realization. They’d spent hours as family putting that outlandish thing up and decorating it. There were ornaments on it that Harry’s _nan_ had kept for generations and passed on to him.

It was Finn’s very first Christmas tree, ever, and now it’s vanished into thin air like some stupid magic trick gone wrong. Louis collapses onto the center of the couch in dejection, staring straight ahead at where he _knows_ their tree was just stood 24 hours ago.

He doesn’t know how much time passes when his little bubble of silence is popped, suddenly, and small, curious voice sneaks up on him out of nowhere.

“Papa?”

Louis turns his attention to the hall where Charlie’s curly head pokes out. Her blue eyes are wide, cheeks chubby and rouge. She’s still in her pajamas and looks so heartbreaking small and sweet.

“We’re havin’ pancakes,” is all she says before leaving.

It feels like he’s suddenly stepped into the Twilight Zone and he has no clue what the fuck is going on. It takes him a minute to gather his wits together before standing up and following after Charlie, at a loss for what he’s supposed to expect anymore.

And then he walks into the kitchen and finds the rest of his family sitting around the island, chatting away easily. Teddy and Darcy seem to be in some type of competition, stuffing their mouths with too-large portions of their breakfasts as Auggie watches on as the referee. Charlie struggles to get back up in her seat, finally getting some help from her dad who pops up out of nowhere with Finn in one arm.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

The room goes quiet at the sound of his voice, five pairs of eyes turning around and landing on him. (Poor little Finn is still left clueless.)

“Hey, you finally woke up.” Harry walks towards him briskly and kisses his cheek. “I was afraid you were going to be knocked out all day. Come, I’ll make you a fresh stack.” He doesn’t wait for Louis to respond before he’s turning around and handing Finn off to Auggie. He must remember something all of a sudden because he spins around. “Oh!” he claps. “I almost forgot!”

“What the—”

Harry shuffles around by the sink and comes back with a cone-shaped _thing_ in his hand. Louis only realizes what said _thing_ is after it’s placed on his head and the elastic band snaps against the underside of his chin.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Harry birthday, honey,” Harry coos, not even the slightest hint of ridicule in his voice. He drops a kiss to Louis’ forehead and then pushes him toward their kids. “Go on, I’ll be right there with your pancakes.”

Awestruck, Louis goes to sit down by Charlie.

“Happy birthday, papa,” his youngest daughter says. She goes to stand on her chair precariously and Louis has to grab her around the waist quickly to make sure she doesn’t fall over. Like this, she towers over him by a couple of inches. She uses her new height to her advantage and kisses his forehead with a loud smack, just like her dad a moment ago. “You are very old now.”

Louis doesn’t know how Darcy moves without him noticing, but suddenly she’s right beside him, too, picking up his arm and resting it over his shoulders so she can nuzzle close to him. With her face practically buried in his armpit, she whispers in a hushed voice, “And still very small,” stretching up to kiss his cheek affectionately. Her features scrunch up in displeasure at the feel of his beard against her skin, but, “It’s okay. I still love you.”

Before Louis can say anything, Teddy launches himself across the surface of the island, pushing everyone’s plates and cups aside so he can throw his arms around Louis’ neck. “Happy birthday, papa.” He squeezes tight, emphasizing his words. (It reminds Louis of how Harry hugs with so much force, like he’s physically trying to radiate his emotion onto Louis.) “Thanks for always being there for us. We love you.”

“Dad!” Louis peeks over Teddy’s shoulder to find Auggie grumbling. “Hurry up and take Finn back! I don’t wanna the only one missing out on hugs!”

“Just put him in his swing and make sure to buckle him in. Be careful with his neck, babe!”

As Louis watches him do as he’s told, he can’t help the laughter that builds out of him. It’s not even funny, but then Auggie jumps at him precisely the way Teddy had across the counter, and he’s at a loss for words. His kids have absolutely lost their mind and Louis is right there with them, arms full and dizzy with affection.

He laughs because he’s confused, but also mostly so he doesn’t start crying. The kids find it infectious and suddenly they are giddy and loud, fighting over each other for Louis’ attention. They tug on his sleeves and pinch his cheeks; toy with the hat on his head and ask him about what he’s going to do now he’s basically as old as nanna Anne—Darcy’s words, not his.

He doesn’t know who to answer first, but he’s saved, miraculously, by a plate of extra fluffy pancakes, drizzled in syrup and cream, topped off with raspberries and sprinkles. In the middle sits a single rainbow candle, waiting to be blown out.

Harry drapes himself over Louis’ back, long arms coming around to circle his middle. He tucks his chin over his shoulder and whispers in his ear, soft and lovingly, just for him to hear. “Make a wish, Lou.”

Louis finds his husband’s hands where they rest against his stomach and laces their fingers together. He wants to kiss his mouth, but he settles for a peck to his temple and a quiet thank you. Before he closes his eyes, he lets himself have one last glance at Teddy and Auggie and Darcy and Charlie and Finn, his ridiculous, mischievous, absolutely breathtakingly beautiful babies.

He closes his eyes, makes his wish, and blows out his candle.

❄❄❄

“You know, I feel kind of silly now for thinking you and the kids would listen to me,” Louis says later in the day when he’s all worn out from coloring and karaoke and snowball fighting with the kids. It’s only four in the afternoon and he already feels like he’s been celebrating his birthday for at least a couple of weeks now.

“ _Hey_ , I did try, you know,” Harry defends. He nuzzles his head against Louis’ cheek, careful of Finn sleeping against his chest. “Teddy and ‘em didn’t even let me in on their plan until last night, and that was only ‘cos they couldn’t figure out how to hide the tree in the basement. They said they were going to ring Niall if I didn’t!”

Outside, the snow continues to come down, but inside the Tomlinson house it is cozy and warm, everything bathed in gold. The lights in the living room are dimmed down, the kids all spread out in front of the television as the fireplace crackles a warm soundtrack. There is not a single reminder of Christmas around the entire house—a statement in which the kids take great pride in. They’re halfway through Mulan, Auggie and Teddy having already worn themselves out from reenacting the fight scenes, and Louis is still, somehow, at a loss for words.

He’s never had a birthday like this: a birthday that was _just_ his day; that was disconnected completely from Christmas. He didn’t even ask for it, but it’s like his kids—none of whom can reach the freezer door or color inside the lines—know him better than he knows himself. They somehow managed to plan the whole day out behind his and Harry’s backs, from the songs they would sing for karaoke as a family, to the teams they would pair up for in charades.

And they got him _gifts_ , too. Genuinely nice, thoughtful gifts.

A couple dozen cards, for no apparent reason than to say _we love you, happy birthday_ a thousand different ways. A Christmas sweater (bought with the allowance money they’d all saved up) that matches his eyes, and an identical one for Finn. A new coloring book, courtesy of miss Charlie, and a voucher for a private one-on-one coloring session at any time of Louis’ choosing. A tattoo of a windwheel on  Harry’s chest, right above his heart and still fresh. (A promise to take Louis to get an identical one in the same spot tomorrow.) Two new pairs of fuzzy socks, one with little blue hedgehogs on it, the other one with silly green frogs.

And the pièce de résistance? A brand new [longboardstroller](http://www.quinny.com/longboardstroller/), which Louis had never even heard of until today. According to a very excited Teddy and Auggie, it is stroller with a longboard connected to its base, and it is one hundred percent the best way for Louis to take Finn out and still have fun. While it had left Louis bemused, Harry had nearly fainted right on the spot.

He doesn’t want to know _how_ they got it, much less how they could afford it, but he supposes at the end of the day, it’s the thought that really counts. And even though he promises Harry he’ll never take it out for a run, he doesn’t think he should be held accountable for what he does on his birthday.

“I think we should do this every year.”

Louis tears his eyes away from where Charlie has fallen asleep on Darcy’s lap to meet Harry’s eyes. “I don’t know, H. I don’t want the kids to feel obligated to do anything for me. It seems like a lot of work.”

Harry stares back him, green eyes sharp and unwavering. “And you’re worth it,” he says with an air of finality.

Neither of them say a word as Mulan and her fighters sing in the background. For a moment Louis thinks that’s it, that’s the end of their conversation, but at the last second Harry’s features soften and his hand comes up to cup his cheek. Slowly, he draws Louis closer to him and they kiss, languid and loving, like two people who have devoted themselves to one another for the last 16 years.

“I love you,” Harry hums into his mouth reverently.

And _that_ is the end of the conversation.

❄❄❄

The final surprise of the day comes later that night when their doorbell rings a few minutes past seven. Darcy goes to see who it is and one by one, comes back with every member of Louis and Harry’s family, every mum and dad and brother and sister and niece and nephew, all right there. Even Niall and Liam appear out of nowhere with their wives and kids, everyone carrying with them some sort of wrapped up dish ready to be heated up and eaten.

And just like that, the Tomlinson kitchen, dining room, living room, and playroom is filled to the brim with all the people in the world who love and care for Louis most deeply. There is enough food to feed an entire village—which they definitely make up, as far as number count is concerned—with good wine and loud laughs, hugs all around. And still, there is not a hint of Christmas (just hours away) in the entire house.

As far as Louis is concerned, the reality of his life is far better than any birthday wish he could have mustered.

❄❄❄

As it turns out, the kids had forcefully dragged Liam to the shops yesterday to buy the stroller. Darcy admits, when Liam finally tells Harry and Louis the truth, that she had proudly stolen Harry’s credit card yesterday morning.

“And then I told Uncle Liam if he didn’t get us the stroller, I was gonna tell the guy at the shop that he was kidnapping us.”

So. That’s how Louis’ kids managed to get him a longboarding stroller for his birthday.

Louis promises to never ask them questions again.

❄❄❄

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on [tumblr](http://www.tornorrows.tumblr.com) about all things related to dj khaled and alexander hamilton, thanks


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